Shadowed Scars
by stardust rain
Summary: Spoilers. Sometimes, in order to remember you need to forget. RS SLASH


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. 

Warning: Angst, spoilers and SLASH (RL/SB)! 

**Shadowed Scars**

Thirty days of silence and grief had never been longer. He never liked these months. June. July. The dread of returning to the Dursleys again, the hollow emptiness of spending his birthday alone. But all this was nothing compared to _the Daily Prophet_ mocking him or the risk of getting expelled or the horror of watching his godfather die - 

'He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back because he's dead.' 

- die because of him. 

If he ever had a worse summer than this one he couldn't remember it. The letters from Ron and Hermione often told him to be strong, asking how he was. 

'Fine' he'd reply untruthfully. 'I'm just fine.' 

But he wasn't fine. He was torn, weary and tired. Tired of mourning. Tired of the pitying stares of others. Tired of the haunting nightmares that kept him fearful and exhausted.

For nightmares often visited him when he slept, and every time he'd wake up shaking and drenched in cold sweat, having seen his godfather die all over again. So he didn't sleep.

He'd lie awake not thinking and not allowing his mind to wander, because if did it would just bring back painful memories.

He laid back on his bed gazing unfocused at the ceiling again. It lured no thoughts and bore no memories, so he found himself staring at it for endless hours, days as well as nights. 

Every time tears threatened to fall he'd grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut until they went away. If one tear fell he knew that many more would follow. 

He didn't dare cry because that would be a sign of weakness and the weak would be the easiest targets. Right now he needed to be strong. For Sirius, he told himself. For Sirius.

He buried his face in his hands again, glasses cutting into his nose, trying to block out yet another trail of guilty thoughts that came. 

It's been a month.

* * * 

It's been a month.

A month of sorrow, of grief. A month of suspense and hoping, of too many emotions ripped at the sight of the first coffins, of panic at the sight of the names dead and disappeared mentioned in the _Daily Prophet_ and of prayers that your own family will survive the war. 

He didn't like it back here, he felt insecure coming in into the house that had once belonged to his lover. But another side of him often argued with him over this. They had spent a lot of their time here, it had so many memories, especially in the bedroom. And the bed. They had shared it for just over a year, trying to make up for lost time, the thirteen years they had spent without each other. It was theirs, and it will always be theirs.  Harry would probably inherit the house from Sirius once he's of age. 

He hadn't heard from Harry for a while except the random note saying that he was 'OK'. Remus had tried his best to write to him during the summer, a word of comfort through the hard times. A few dozen letters littered his table, he had started to write but never got  round to finishing any of them. 

It wound be Harry's birthday soon, he though absently, he'll be needing a suitable present. Perhaps he and Sirius could – 

Reality crashed back. Sirius was dead. Gone. Disappeared behind veil. 

But this was war. And in wars people get hurt, people die. Wouldn't you have given your life to save someone who could prevent that? Would you not have given his? He didn't want to answer the unspoken question in everyone's faces, but it seemed somehow unavoidable.  

Perhaps, he thought. 

Sirius was just one among thousands to come, thousands to get hurt and killed. There's nothing to prevent that. Was there?

No.

Nothing. 

Except – 

Except that – 

Except that Harry should have someone to lean on. Now especially when he's in need of it. 

Involuntarily he glared at the door. Molly would be in the kitchen right now, making dinner, her own grief drowned by worry. 

She usually came to his room, trying to make him cheer up, but left again without  much success. They'd talk about anything that came to mind, which usually stirred other memories, memories he didn't want to share, memories he'd keep locked up inside forever. 

Dumbledore sometimes came to the headquarters, to see how things were going. He had heard them talking in hushed voices, avoiding his gaze as much as he avoided theirs. He didn't need their pity, the look of sympathy in their eyes, their whispered  voices behind his back. 

What hw needed was time. It was all that he had now, when Sirius was gone merely days after he promised him that he'd look after Harry if he died. Well death came too early for him. And losing him was like losing the knowledge of how to smile. Because he was all he smiled for. 

Remus sighed, sobbing silently into his pillow. No, _their_ pillow. 

He had made his promise to Sirius, that he'd be there for Harry if Sirius wasn't.

Now it happened. Sirius was dead. 

But he had no idea what to do. 

_~*FIN*~_

* * * 

A/N: Jeez, I never thought I'd be writing this, since I've always been so against slash. Huh. Still, this just came out to write itself somehow and so, I let the R/S bunnies out to play. And they ate me. Anyway I thought about finishing this, making it into a collection of post-death vignettes. If anyone wants me to continue this, and if I get enough good reviews I'll write on. ^_^ Lemme know!  


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